


Drive Faster, Boy

by Arya_Greenleaf



Series: Huxloween & (K)inktober 2016 [7]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Fingering, Angst, Creampie, Dirty Talk, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-15
Updated: 2016-11-15
Packaged: 2018-08-29 02:17:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8471755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arya_Greenleaf/pseuds/Arya_Greenleaf
Summary: Armitage confronts his feelings--or lack thereof--or not quite what he thought--and confesses that he wants more than what he's been given.





	

**Author's Note:**

> The latest in the [Huxloween & (K)inktober promts.](http://avaahren.tumblr.com/post/151128365869/kawaiiloren-ivanhoenineteenninetyfour) This time around we've got _lost, creampie, ghosts_ from day seven!
> 
> Does 'Tige continue to stand up to the Commandant? Does Ben confront him about his lies? How the hell do these prompts fit together? This is even worse than dolls and bukkake, my friends, but I hope you'll come along for the ride. Fair warning, the creampie is in fantasy only, don't want to disappoint.

“Ben, I don’t… I don’t know how to do this.”

“Do what?”

“I’ve never—“ Ben looked at him with earnest eyes that made Armitage’s heart clench. “I’ve never been in a real relationship before. Something that wasn’t orchestrated by the Commandant, something I chose for myself.”

“So?”

“So? So!” Armitage pressed his foot against the gas. Ben gripped the armrest molded into the door. His foot moved as if jerking toward the break. “ _So_ , I don’t know how to navigate this! We’ve just been going along hunky-dory—going to movies and on weekends and fucking on whatever surface sits still long enough to be fucked on—and I’m… my _heart_ —I can’t. I can’t do this, Ben.”

“’Tige, slow down.”

“No! I don’t want to slow down!”

“You’re gonna crack the goddamned car up.”

“I don’t care!”

“Listen to yourself!”

Armitage eased off the gas and threw the car into park as soon as it was safe to, screeching onto the side of the road. The sun was just beginning to rise, not another soul on the road. He gripped the steering wheel and squinted into the fiery dawn light as if it had personally offended him. “I don’t know how to _feel_ what I’m feeling, Ben!”

“I find that hard to believe, ‘Tige.”

“That’s because your parents are _normal_! They’ve never used you!”

Ben blanched, his expression horrified.

“You said it so… so freely.” He pressed his lips together, chin quivering. “There aren’t any strings attached when you say it. You don’t have to wonder.”

“What are you wondering about?”

Fat tears rolled over his cheeks, staining his freckles wet and dark against flushed skin. “If it’s real. If I’m actually feeling what I’m feeling, or—or it’s just because I want to contradict _him_.” He inhaled sharply, sucking back snot as the color in his face flared and he sobbed once, the sound of it echoing in the car. “He’s probably tracking me right now. Fuck. _Fuck!_ It wouldn’t fucking surprise me. Nothing surprises me anymore.” He trembled violently, his grip on the steering wheel turning white-knuckled. “I’m so… I’m so _lost_ , Ben. I’m so lost,” he whispered. “Why the fuck are you even with me?”

“I don’t know.” Armitage barked out a laugh and eased his foot back onto the gas, putting the car back into drive. “I don’t mean it that way, ‘Tige. I mean… I mean that I can’t explain it. I just, you know, I just am. We just _are_. I think we would be in any version of—of—of time, space, reality—whatever you want to call it.”

“Stop it, Ben, stop it! Cut the _star-crossed lovers_ bullshit!”

“It’s not bullshit!” Ben crossed his arms, folding them high on his chest and shoving his hands into his underarms like a child. “It’s not.” He huffed and sighed, heavy and dramatic. Armitage slowed, rubbing his eyes angrily and then looking back at the road. “We’re lost, ‘Tige.”

“Don’t you _dare_ fucking make fun of me, Ben Solo!”

“I’m not! I think we’re actually lost!”

“What?” Armitage looked around at his surroundings, finding nothing familiar. A few cars passed, horns blaring as he went too slow for his lane. “Oh.”

“How long have we been driving?”

He glanced at the clock on the center console, “Two hours or so.”

“Fuck.”

“Where the hell are we?”

“Pull over and stick your hazards on before you get us killed.” Ben fished his phone from his pocket, smacking the screen with his thumbs. He let the GPS do its work, jiggling his leg impatiently and making the car rock. “We’re like an exit away from Point Pleasant.”

“Isn’t that New Jersey?”

“Yeah, the shore.”

“Shit.”

“You hungry?” Armitage nodded, easing back into the suddenly increasing traffic. “Take the next exit and follow the main drag to Arnold Ave. There’s this diner that serves the most obscene looking breakfast sausages I’ve ever laid eyes on.” Armitage’s eyebrows shot up into his hairline. “We used to spend weekends sometimes, a friend had a house on the beach or a time-share or something.”

“Stars, Ben.” Armitage’s eyes grew round as saucers their coffee cups were resting on. The woman who was serving them came by with the pot, filling their cups back up and placing a fresh dish of chilled creamers on the table. She gave Armitage the impression of an aged _Black Widow_ , plucked out from behind the Iron Curtain to keep an eye on them. “You certainly weren’t exaggerating.”

Ben waggled his eyebrows and cut into the fat, crisp sausage on his plate. The earthy aroma of it wafted up with the steam the cut released and he popped the slice into his mouth.

“Is anything open here during the… not… summer?”

Ben nodded, “Yeah, it’s a town, ‘Tige, people live here. There’s plenty of stuff open. Just not the amusement park down at Jenkinson’s. We could go to the aquarium though, if you wanted. I think that’s open all year.”

“Instead of talking about… about whatever we are.”

Ben swallowed hard and slammed his utensils down on the table. Armitage gasped and smiled at the waitress when she cast them a hawkish glare.

“ _Ben_.”

“No, Armitage. I’m done talking about this. I’m done. Either you want to be with me or you don’t—it’s that simple.”

“It is not that simple.”

“Yes, it is. ‘Tige. _‘Tige_ , listen to me, you ass.” Armitage paused in shuffling steaming scrambled eggs into his mouth, scowling. “I’m not asking you to say you lo—“

“Don’t,” he said around a full mouth.

“I’m not asking you to say it. I’m just asking you to be honest.”

“I _am_ being honest. And three days ago _you_ were pestering _me_ about… about _that_.”

“Because I was angry! And I felt like you were… like you were using me or something. I don’t know. After I heard about the thing with the breakfast and your dad and how you… how you just… you just—you just lied so easy. I wanted answers, ‘Tige. You don’t know what it was like to hear all of that crap second hand—to have to defend yourself to a room full of people that think you’ve lost it and tiptoe around you like you’ve got a hair-trigger no matter how much they insist they’re just trying to support you.”

Armitage dropped his utensils and they clattered against his plate. He pushed it away and covered his face with his hands. “I said I was sorry.”

“I know! I know. And I said I was sorry, too. I’m not asking you to tell me you love me, not if you can’t mean it or don’t know if you mean it or whatever. I just… I want you to stop hiding from yourself.”

“I’m not hiding from myself.”

“’Tige, you’re like… you have like four different personalities. You put on a different mask for whatever audience you’re performing for. And maybe… maybe I’m afraid you’re just performing for me too.” Armitage uncovered his face and gave Ben a horrified look. “I’m allowed to feel that way, ‘Tige.”

“I’m not performing for you. I’m _happy_ when I’m with you. I thought I was content before. I thought I was content just obeying and keeping my nose in my books and not thinking too hard about anything else. But I wasn’t, I realize I wasn’t. And since I met you… Since Snoke _forced me_ to work with you, _stars_ , since he made me do that project with you—testing me. It’s completely fucking ridiculous but my whole world is different since… since you. I didn’t realize how completely bullshit my life was, I didn’t realize how completely abnormal things were.”

Ben sniffed and hid behind his coffee cup.

“Are you crying?”

“No.”

“Yes, you are.” Armitage broke into a grin, blinking rapidly to hide his own emotion. “Fuckin’ sap.”

“Are we okay?”

“I am if you are.”

“Yeah, I think so.” Ben put his coffee down and rubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand. “Fuck.”

The waitress came over, squinting at them as Armitage pulled his plate back towards himself and picked his utensils back up. She poured more coffee into Ben’s cup. “Is everything good?”

“Yeah,” Ben said, smiling up at her. “Everything’s fine.”

“So how’s that aquarium?”

Ben shrugged. “Last time we were there they had an albino alligator or crocodile or something. And lots of penguins. The penguins were total exhibitionists, it was a little disturbing to be honest. I remember watching them feed the sharks; that was cool. The observation window has this frame around it that’s a giant shark jaw.”

They continued their meal in easy silence—stealing touches, brushing fingers over salt and pepper and ketchup, toes and knees bumping under the table, appropriating bites of fried potato and dumping creamer into coffee without a thought. They were breaking off pieces from a pile of gooey danishes when Armitage sighed. Thumb in his mouth, sucking off the sugary apricot glop, he fished his phone from within the haphazard pile of their jackets and scarves beside him.

“It’s the Commandant.”

“Ignore it.”

“I can’t.” He swiped the screen to answer, visibly stiffening in his seat. “Hello, father.”

“Where are you?”

“In Point Pleasant.”

“Where is that, Armitage?”

“The Jersey shore.”

“You just decided out of the blue to drive hours away.”

“Yes.”

“You’re with Solo, aren’t you?”

“Yes, sir, I am. Ben and I both needed to step away from our work.”

“And it was necessary to leave without asking to take the car, in the middle of the night.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You’ll come home immediately.”

“No, father, I’m afraid that I can’t.” Ben reached out, placing his hand over Armitage’s on the tabletop. Armitage snatched his hand away, crossing it over his chest and tucking it under the opposite arm. _Don’t_ , he mouthed. “I won’t. I don’t plan to be home until tomorrow evening at the earliest.”

“Bollocks!”

“Sir—“

“I am not going to argue with you over the phone—especially not when Solo is undoubtedly listening in. We will have a serious conversation when you return, Armitage.”

The call disconnected and Armitage placed the phone down on the table, resuming his merciless picking apart of the danish on the plate in front of him.

“’Tige, I—“

“Just forget about it.” Ben frowned deeply. “Eat your pastry and be quiet.”

Still frowning, Ben tore into flakey crust and creamy Neufchatel, eating it as if out of spite.

“When does the aquarium open?”

“Ten,” the waitress said as she approached the table once more. “Do you need anything else?” With an answer in the negative, she left the check and went to tend to another guest.

Armitage pulled up the sleeve of his sweater. “We’ve got two hours to kill.”

“Wanna walk on the beach?”

“It’s freezing, Ben.”

“So?” One side of his mouth turned up in a smile. “I’ll keep you warm.”

Armitage rolled his eyes and wiped his hands off to count out crisp bills onto the table, leaving the waitress a generous tip for her tolerance of their personal drama. “I’m not going near the water.”

Ben grinned and slipped back into his jacket, holding Armitage’s out for him as well. “You say that like you don’t trust me. Think I’m gonna chuck you in?”

“Perhaps.”

“Nah, it’s too cold for that. You’d catch your death in there.”

They walked up to the boardwalk, leaving the car parked outside the diner. Armitage’s fingers turned icy as they got nearer to the water. He clutched Ben’s hand, the big mitt of it enveloping his cold fingers in calloused warmth and something else. Ben glanced over as they stepped up onto the salt-weathered ramp, sand crunching against wood beneath their shoes, and tucked their hands into his pocket between them. They walked across the boardwalk and over the swell of windblown sand toward the water. Slowly, they made their way up the length of the boardwalk trailing closer to the water where the surface of the sand had less give. Hey drew close to the aquarium, visible back up on dry land, and idled in front of the heathered waves.

“Wanna sit for a few minutes?”

Armitage frowned at the damp sand and tugged Ben farther away to where it was soft and white. Ben flopped down, pulling Armitage with him and settling Armitage’s body snugly between his legs. They sat watching the water rush in and out against the shore for some time. Armitage settled back, annoyed with the predictable in-and-out of the waves, and tucked his head beneath Ben’s chin. His fixed his gaze on the clouds hovering over the tiki bar at the far end of the beach, starkly white against the pale autumn sky. Ben shifted behind him, curling his body over Armitage in a protective shell, one big hand rubbing warmth into the side of his leg.

“Hey, where are you?”

“What?”

“You’re in another galaxy. What are you thinking about?”

“Ghosts.”

Ben laughed and it rumbled through Armitage’s back. “Want to light a bonfire and tell spooky stories? Pretend we’re in one of those shitty teen romance movies.”

Armitage chuckled almost silently. “No, no. I’m thinking about my mother, oddly enough. The Commandant’s wife isn’t, so...”

“Yeah, you told me that. Didn’t seem like something you really wanted to talk about.”

“I don’t, not really—but—I… After the Commandant and I had our disagreement, I was alone in the house for a while.”

Ben was quiet, the stroke of his hand against Armitage’s leg falling into pattern with the cresting of the waves. Someone ran across the wet sand, dog on a leash beside them, disrupting the illusion of aloneness the deserted beach and mostly closed boardwalk cast.

“I was… I was looking at other things and thought that I might find something else relevant in the safe. Really, he’s got to stop using the year he started at Arkanis as his passcode for _everything_ if he wants it to be secure.”

Ben snickered and bowed his head against a gust of salty wind, lips brushing teasingly against Armitage’s neck.

“He keeps important documents in there, of course. Deed to the house, marriage certificate, will—all of that crap.”

“And?”

“My birth certificate was there. And it’s the original. He conveniently lost several documents in our move—political bullshit—I’d thought for the longest time it was one of them.”

“What does that mean?”

“It was issued before the form was adjusted to name Maratelle.”

“That’s… the Commandant’s wife?”

“Yes.”

Ben waited for him to continue, prompting him when he didn’t. “So what’s your birth mom’s name?”

Armitage scowled and ignored the question. “I always knew Maratelle didn’t give birth to me. Intuition, I suppose, when I was very small. She didn’t dote the way the other mothers did—even the ones who were quite ensconced in the system still babied their progeny. It was more like I was an accessory, a fancy bauble or something. I always dreamed about some soft, radiant woman with strawberry-golden hair and translucent eyelashes who had my nose. When I was older they told me that they had me through a surrogate but I’d heard enough chatter to know that the Commandant cheated and I was a product of that infidelity. People talk—in close-knit circles like ours they thrive on intrigue. I couldn’t convince myself that she didn’t want me so instead I decided that Brendol and Maratelle hid me from her—claimed I’d died at birth or some-such and passed me off as Maratelle’s to hide his lechery.” He barked out a bitter laugh. “The gymnastics one’s mind will do, right? After I saw her name I tried to search for her—just Googling and trolling the digital phone books, mind you. But I can’t find anything on her. It’s like she never existed.”

“Maybe she’s just not listed? Not everybody’s got a Facebook, either. It’s not always as easy as a quick search.”

Armitage shrugged, closing his eyes and sighing as Ben kissed gently at the side of his neck and wrapped him up in a firm hug. “I thought I might find a death certificate or something. It was the only reasonable explanation I could think of. I used the payphone by the bus shelter to try to call up vital records back over the drink.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing. All I’ve got is what was on the certificate, which is quite a lot considering. Name, place of birth, address—although the address is Arkanis, so that’s not very useful, I suppose. Probably just filler. So… ghosts.”

“I could see if any of my mom’s connections could—“

“No, that’s not necessary. It’s a fool’s errand, really. If the Commandant doesn’t want the connection made, it simply won’t be.”

Ben sighed and shifted. “C’mon, my ass is numb. If they still go by the same schedule the seals and penguins should be getting fed soon.”

Armitage huffed in displeasure, his hand stamped with a half-dried purple inkpad, the distorted face of a smiling octopus looking up at him. It was, evidently, proof of payment and permission to re-enter the aquarium should they choose to leave and come back. Ben assured him that they could see the entirety of the facility before lunch.

"Unless you wanna come back and watch 'em feed the sharks."

Armitage smirked and watched the colorful flock of seahorses move around the wiggling tendrils of sea plants in their tank. He'd been fed personally to his share of sharks, at least metaphorically so, often enough. He didn’t need to see them snap at smelly fish to know what a feeding looked like. He moved across the room toward the tall glass wall that enclosed the seals. "That one there, with the eye."

"Luseal?"

"She's very animated." Armitage leaned close to the glass peering as deep into the corners of the tank as he could. "Aren't there two?" 

"Seaquin might be up top. There's a platform thing up there."

"Whoever came up with those names is either a complete genius or a total troll."

Ben snickered, "Come on, let’s go." He tugged Armitage toward the stairs, steering him deeper into the romantically lit rooms of the aquarium.

Later, Armitage spun a mood ring shaped like a dolphin around on his finger in the gift shop, watching the color change slowly from blue to green in swirls and streaks. "Those penguins were absolutely depraved."

Ben laughed, echoing in the mostly empty shop and drawing the attention of the bored looking teenager behind the register. "They're shameless."

"He just... He just mounted her right there like it was nothing."

"But she moved! She wasn’t having any of his nonsense."

"And it went everywhere. Is there a worker assigned specifically to clean the results of failed romantic liaisons off of the viewing glass?"

Ben continued to laugh, his smile softening as Armitage abandoned the mood ring back into the pile of sea creatures it came from and moved toward the front of the store. "It's nice, you know?"

"Pornographic penguins? Didn't know you were into that kind of thing, Ben."

He snorted and ran his hand over a row of shark teeth dangling from cord necklaces, listening to them clatter together. "No, definitely not. I meant this, you, smiling—laughing." He shrugged and plucked the sharpest, whitest tooth from the bunch, slipping the cord over Armitage's head and popping the tag off. "You don't do that so much. Kind of proportional to the distance between you and your house, I think." He slipped the tag and a bill across the counter before the frowning girl in her Jenkinson's polo shirt and ponytail could protest that he hadn't paid. "Want to head back by the water or drive into town?"

"Is the town full of those terrible touristy shops with signs to hang in your kitchen about living, laughing, and loving?" 

"Ugh," the cashier scoffed as she handed Ben his change. "Yes. But there's some other stuff too. Atomic's is cool, and the antique places have a decent record collection--and some weird shit."

“Ooh, antique weird shit is right up ‘Tige’s alley.”

Armitage laughed and thanked her for the recommendation. "Is there any place to stay the night?"

"We're staying?"

"Yes. I want to be truly cliché and watch the sun rise on the beach tomorrow."

The cashier shrugged, "One of the motels might still be open? But most of the houses are full-timers or not taking renters. It's not exactly beach season."

"They still do that classic car thing in town?" The girl nodded and assured him it was actually taking place as they spoke, it had started the day before and would last though the following afternoon. Ben raised his eyebrows at Armitage, "Look at that, lucky us. You drove us down here in a confused rage on the perfect weekend."

They drove back into town, the atmosphere in the car much lighter than when they'd first arrived. Piping hot bagels in hand, they strolled down the main road admiring the well cared for vehicles lining either side of the street. They stretched as far as Armitage could see, reflective of easily a century of automotive enthusiasm. Some of the drivers, he mused, must be still driving the first cars they ever purchased.

Collar tuned up against a stiff breeze, Armitage paused beside a highly polished convertible. Running his fingers gently over the glossy surface, its owner informed him that it was called _Susanna_ , he'd had the color matched exactly to the pigment of the namesake's preferred lip color, and it was manufactured in 1937. Armitage frowned glancing out of the corner of his eye as he heard the faint click of the camera application on Ben's phone.

“What are you doing?”

“You looked good.”

The elderly gentleman opened the driver’s side door. “Ga’head, git’in.” He ushered Armitage inside and closed the door, patting the roof affectionately. “She does look good on ya, kid. Got a little Carey Grant ‘round the edges, I think.”

Armitage settled his hands on the steering wheel and fixed a steely look on Ben, hair falling into his eyes. “Well then, merrily we go to hell.” The man laughed wheezingly and clapped Ben on the shoulder while he snapped another photo.

“Ga’head, you too.”

“What? No, that’s okay.”

“Git’in, git’in. Ya know you wanna.”

Ben relented, slipping into the passenger’s seat. It wasn’t exactly comfortable for either of them, long legs jammed into the narrow spaces of the car. “This is amazing.”

“I had no idea you liked cars.”

“You never really asked.”

Armitage frowned. “I’m sorry.” He looked seriously at the steering wheel and then back at Ben. “I’m going to be better at that. I promise.”

Ben reached out and brushed his hair back.

“Ya want one for the Instamatic?”

“What?” Armitage laughed and turned, Ben’s fingers trailing over his temple as he did.

“Them square photos. My granddaughter is always postin’ ‘em. The Instamatic. Don’t you have one?”

“Oh!” He stuck his hand into the open window, gesturing at the phone in Ben’s lap. Armitage leaned back, eyes wide, to avoid the intrusion.

“I take good pichers, don’t you worry.” He took the phone when Ben handed it over, angling himself outside to get what he no doubt believed was an artful shot of the pair of them in the car. “Susanna’s got one ‘a them pages, ya know. My granddaughter runs it. Susanna Noir, all one word. Jessa says people should tag their posts with it. Check it! I kin take another.”

Armitage took the offered phone and shielded it from the bright sun streaming through the windshield. “That’s… that’s actually a very lovely photo.” He smiled up at the man. “Thank you.”

“Thought the two’a ya were gonna kiss for it! The couples always do!”

Armitage’s cheeks flushed and Ben coughed to cover his shock.

“I’m old!” The man laughed and made a motion to take the phone back. “Not ign’rant!” Armitage handed it back tentatively. “G’on, g’on! Lay one on ‘im!”

Armitage chewed his lip and leaned in, pulling Ben toward him gently by the lapels of his coat. The old man whistled as their lips met. Someone on the street clapped and hooted. Ben breathed out in a rush when he pulled away, a dreamy smile on his face.

“Now, don’t you fer’git to tag Susanna.”

Ben laughed and got out of the car, taking his phone back when he made his way around. “Will do, sir. And thank you for letting us sit in it. It really is an amazing car.” They shook hands after more promises to post their photos and made their way further down the line of cars. “Shall we go in and see what weird shit that place has to offer?”

Armitage laughed and shrugged down against the breeze, stepping closer to Ben. “Lead the way.” They moseyed through the store, entertained by the strange mix of modern second-hand things and true antiques. “Ben!” Armitage gasped, running his hands over the edges of a highly polished writing desk. “Look at this! It’s beautiful.”

Ben sidled up beside him, touching the surface as well. “It is. But it won’t fit in the car.”

“I’m sure they ship.”

Ben plucked at the discrete price tag tied to the handle of one of the many little drawers. “It’s seven grand.”

“It’s so lovely that it can stay right where it is.”

“I think I saw some bones over there.” Armitage perked up, trailing behind Ben as they made their way across the store to where he’d been poking about. “Interested in aquatic creatures?”

Armitage squatted down in front of the display case. “That’s exquisite. Looks like it has all its teeth, too. Not horribly bleached, either.” He stood and frowned, finding the case locked. “Ben, did you see the shop—what on earth?”

Ben brandished a tarnished speculum in either hand. “The patient is ready for the procedure, doctor!”

“Bestiality _and_ a medical kink—well, well, Ben Solo, you are far less vanilla than I thought.”

Ben laughed and gestured as the shelves behind him and the array of matching surgical tools they held.

“Gentlemen.” A haughty looking woman approached them and Ben meekly put the pair of speculums back in their place. “Interested in seeing anything.”

“Yes, actually.” Armitage straightened his back, all business, and asked to see the shark’s jaw he’d been admiring. With the piece wrapped in tissue and laid in a box, they made their way back to where they’d left the car. The last of the day’s warmth had receded with the sunset and they sat in the cockpit shivering for several moments while the engine warmed.

Ben groaned and sank down into the heated seat. “I vote for Chinese and finding someplace to stay.”

“Seconded.” Armitage put his hands gingerly on the cold steering wheel and pulled away from the curb onto the empty street. “So, you like cars.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Man of many talents.”

“My dad has this old Mustang that he’s built and rebuilt more times than I can count—runs like a dream even though it’s really a hunk of junk.” Armitage glanced over at him as they pulled up to a red light. “Calls it the _Millennium Falcon._ Don’t ask me where the hell he got that name from. I learned how to fix cars watching and helping him when I was a kid. I think he taught me how to parallel park before he bothered with a bike. I like to drive it when I visit home—if he doesn’t have the engine pulled apart again.”

“That’s nice.”

“What?”

“Having that memory, sharing something.”

“It is. Sometimes I forget to be grateful for it.” He put his hand on Armitage’s knee. “If you turn left here there’s a take-out place. I hope they still dye their vegetable dumplings green.”

Armitage squawked indignantly as Ben laughed, the plastic container of primary-green dumplings shaking and threatening to tip from where they were balanced on his stomach. “You’re going to spill them!”

“So,” he said around a full mouth. “They’re just dumplings.”

“Why are they green, again?”

“They’re vegetable. The meat ones are plain colored.”

“You only ordered them because they’re colored, didn’t you?”

Ben nodded and craned his head forward awkwardly to dunk the other half of his dumpling in dipping sauce and shove it into his mouth. “Yup.”

Armitage poked at the noodles in the container he was holding. He’d given up on the chopsticks almost immediately and had pursued the lo mein with singular determination, twirling his plastic fork in it like he was eating a plate of spaghetti. “This room is depressing.”

“It’s the only place open. We’re lucky we got it.”

“It’s stale. It literally smells stale.”

“It’s the off-season. There are only two other rooms being used.”

“At least they’re not going to chase us out in the morning, I suppose.”

Ben scooted up against the headboard and moved the container of food from his stomach to his lap. “We could get breakfast at Duffy’s again, then check out. Or sleep in. Do you still want to go to Atomic?”

Armitage nodded. “I’ve never been to a place like that.”

“Really? It’s just records and tee shirts and junk.”

“Really.”

“Are you secretly a fucking hipster, ‘Tige?”

“Could be.” He snorted and closed his mouth around another forkful of noodles. “Won’t know until I try.”

“We’re breaking up if you’re a hipster. I can deal with a fellow snobbish academic. I cannot deal with a hipster.”

“Do you think I’m going to grow a beard and start wearing plaid and eating kale?”

“It’s a slippery slope.” Ben leaned forward, pressing his own take-out greased lips to Armitage’s. “There’s another slippery slope I’d like to see.”

“Later. If I can stay awake after all of this food.” He chucked his empty carton toward the garbage bin in the corner, watching it hit the edge and threaten to topple outside. He smoothed a hand over his stomach. “I think I gained twelve pounds today. I’m going to have to start running again.”

“Watching your girlish figure?”

Armitage shrugged and stole a dumpling, eating it dry. “Old habits, I suppose. Never failed a tape test the whole time I was at Arkanis.”

“Tape test?”

“When they measure your waist and all of that. You have to maintain a certain range.”

“That’s barbaric.”

“Your own Army does it.”

“What?”

“Or did it, I’m not sure.” He shifted around, lounging beside Ben with his legs stretched out. “I was always on the low end, of course. I’ve never seemed to be able to pack much muscle.”

“I think I would have run away if I’d grown up the way you did. Hell, I did run away. Twice. But I can’t imagine that.”

“You keep forgetting that all of that was normal to me, Ben. You don’t need to make such horrified faces all the time.” Ben plowed his way through the rest of his container, snapped the plastic lid on and chucked it toward the garbage bin. It sailed through the air, landing in the bin with hardly a clatter. Armitage frowned, annoyed at the easiness of everything Ben did—some otherworldly force constantly tipping things in his favor. He shifted down, fitting himself into the curve of Ben’s side and allowed himself to be petted absent-mindedly. He relaxed into the repetitive stroke of Ben’s fingers through his hair and the subtle salt-smell still lingering behind the air of the motel room and their dinner. The prime-time true-crime show in the television faded into white noise. Ben shifted, crossed and uncrossed his ankles. He took a deep breath and started to say something. “Don’t.”

“But—“

“Just be quiet. I’m enjoying this… whatever the fuck this is. I like this.”

Ben chuckled softly and adjusted his posture more comfortably. “Whatever you say, ‘Tige.”

Armitage jolted awake, grappling with the body beneath him for a moment in panic.

“Hey! Hey,” Ben repeated softly. “It’s just me. You fell asleep. I just want to move my arm, it’s numb.” He did, and tucked himself back into the nook Armitage had created with his body. “Go back to sleep, it’s okay.”

Armitage sat up, scratching through his hair and shivering at the feel of his nails against his scalp. “No, I’m awake.”

“I’m sorry.”

He glanced at the digital clock at the bedside, it had been an hour or so. “It’s fine. I’ll be up with the sun if I sleep now.” He twisted around to get a better look at Ben. “You rest. I can channel surf alone.”

Ben shook his head and sat up, pressing a messy kiss against Armitage’s shoulder, lips putting gentle pressure against his skin through his thick sweater. “I should have stayed where I was. You’re like a damn cat—you don’t move when the cat is on you for anything short of the apocalypse.”

Armitage rolled his eyes, shaking his head and smiling into the next kiss placed against his lips. “You’re ridiculous.”

Kisses turned heated, sweaters and undershirts cursed when they impeded the touch of lip-to-lip while they were shed. Armitage sat astride Ben’s waist, shivering at big hands shoved haphazardly into the back of his pants—flesh groped and released, a hand sliding around his waist and rubbing up over his stomach and chest.

“Have—have you got anything?”

“Wha-?”

“Ah!” Calloused fingertips grazed roughly against his hole. “Luh—lube. Condoms. Anything.”

Ben rubbed a hard line against his cleft.

“ _Ben_. I haven’t—All I had when I… when I left… all I had was mm­ _mmph_ —keysandwal _let_!”

“Lube. In my bag. No rubbers.”

Armitage clenched his teeth and seized Ben’s wrist. “Then we’re not doing this.” He shivered, his heated skin prickling with gooseflesh against the oddly temperate atmosphere of the room.

“’Tige, I’m not with anyone else.”

“So.”

“I’ve been tested.”

“Yes, so have I. What of it?”

“Do we need a rubber?” He raised a brow, “You didn’t have a problem the last time I sucked you off.”

Armitage’s cheeks flared red. “I was caught up in the moment. I _told you_ I was uncomfor—“

“Okay! Okay. I just thought…”

“No.”

Ben nodded, tracing his fingers lightly against the barely-there definition of Armitage’s serratus. Ben’s expression turned wistful, his other hand still unmoving in Armitage’s grasp and just resting against his backside. “Are you with anyone else?”

“How could you even ask me that?”

Ben’s shoulders rose and dropped. “Seems relevant.”

“Of course I’m not. I just… with all of the—all of the sham relationships I’ve been in,” he sighed, leaning forward into the warmth of the hand resting then against his sternum. “I haven’t ever not used protection. Always. I don’t care who is doing what or what equipment is involved. Realizing dams were a thing certainly saved me time and awful-tasting mouths full of lubricant after cutting up condoms.” Ben laughed and the tension between them dissipated slightly. “The person I finally get to settle with—that’s who I’ll consider not using them for. If that’s you,” he closed his eyes, chin quivering for a moment before regaining control. “If that’s you then that’s wonderful, but lapses in judgement aside, then I can’t do it until I’m sure. _We’re_ sure.”

Ben’s expression was open, serene—something Armitage rarely saw on him. “Okay,” he whispered. “Not until we’re sure.” His hand danced across Armitage’s clavicle and up the crook of his neck. A rough thumb stroked over his jaw. “Not until we’re sure.” He pulled Armitage down into a gentle kiss. “Can I do something to make you feel good anyway?”

“Ben—“

“No fluid swapping, I promise. I just want to touch you. Feel you. Get your mind off of everything else.”

Armitage let out a long breath. “Alright.”

“I’m gonna need that lube from my bag.” Armitage frowned and Ben extricated his hand from his grasp, patted his hip to indicate he should get up. Ben laughed and extended an arm out, squinting at the backpack sitting on the ugly armchair in the corner. “Nope, not working, you gotta get up.”

Armitage groaned and swung his leg over, traipsing across the room.

“Get those awful jeans off.”

“How are these awful?”

“You look like you _shopped the look_ at Lands’ End.”

Armitage made a sour face a complied anyway, “Why, because I haven’t paid for someone else to splatter by skinny jeans with bleach and shred the knees?” Ben snorted and caught the jeans before they hit him in the face. “I’m not the one who looks tragically grunge. How are you carrying lubricant but not condoms?”

“I was at the drugstore yesterday, I was low, just never took it out of my bag. I wasn’t exactly planning on running off to a shitty motel in New Jersey.”

Armitage paused, fingers hooked into the waist of his underwear. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I was up pacing anyway.” He turned on his side, leaning up onto an elbow. “Get rid of those and come over here.”

Armitage puffed out his chest and stripped out of the underwear, standing defiantly in a faded pair of argyle socks. “Are you taking yours off?”

“No.”

He raised a brow, assuming then that inelegant rutting was off the menu, and fished through Ben’s backpack for the plastic drugstore bag. He balked at the bright yellow container. “Boy Butter? Really?”

“It was on sale,” he protested. “And wasn’t exactly meant for sharing.”

Armitage crossed back to the bed and settled beside Ben, handing the container over with a skeptical look. “Are you bored with me?”

“No hand knows you like your own.” Armitage watched him pop the lid off and dip his fingers into the thick substance inside—slightly off-put by the literally buttery look. “C’mere.” He shifted onto his back again and waited for Armitage to settle astride his hips once more. Ben breathed in sharply, shifting and adjusting his hips. A warm, slippery hand hovered. “Can I?”

Armitage breathed in, filling his chest. He rested his hands against Ben’s forearms, fingers playing through dark hair. “Yeah.” The first swipe of wet fingers though his cleft sent him shivering. “Ben,” he whispered, a thick finger pressing persistently against his hole. “Go slow.”

“Of course.” He pressed, rubbing tiny circles that sent waves of heat down Armitage’s legs and into the soles of his feet. “Very slow. The first time we do this—skin-to-skin— _‘Tige_ , we’ll go so slow. We’ll feel everything.” It was a relief to finally have the finger slip inside. It moved in and out by fractions. “I’ll open you up first, like this.” Armitage gripped his forearms a second finger slipping in without considerable effort. His head lolled, body feeling increasingly loose in all ways. “Enough that all I have to do is slide inside.”

“Ahh!” Armitage squeezed his eyes shut, fingers curling inside him and hitting his prostate with well-practiced movement. Ben knew him so well.

“You’re so warm. Do you know that?” Armitage eased himself forward, tipping his hips back and allowing himself to be spread wide with it. His hands slid along Ben’s arms until he gripped broad, thick shoulders. “I could get lost in how warm you are.”

Armitage gasped, fingers withdrawn, and grimaced at the squelching sound of additional lubricant when Ben worked them back inside. His cock twitched, interested in spite of arousal and blood flow directed elsewhere. “Fuck.”

“Can you take another?” Armitage’s eyes fluttered closed. “How many do you use? When I’m not there? When you’re alone?” He bore down, mouth falling open at the hot stretch of his muscles against Ben’s fingers, discomfort making his thighs tense and sweat bead on his scalp until the third digit was seated inside. Ben snorted, “Think I could get an entire hand in—“

“ _Ben_.” Armitage laughed, reedy and strained. His face flushed red.

“I’m just teasing.” Ben was grinning when Armitage opened his eyes. “I’d still make you loose. Loose and relaxed.” Armitage lowered himself further, pressing their bare chests together and burying his face into the warmth and softness of Ben’s hair and neck, the pressure of his weight against his cock an odd kind of stimulation set against Ben’s skillful fingers. “Loose and relaxed so you could take all of me right away. I’d want you on top—just like this. Like you melted.”

“In your bed.”

“In my bed. Okay.” Ben’s chest and stomach bounced in silent laughter, jarring Armitage pleasantly. The motions of his fingers slowed, drawing out the sensation. Armitage’s back prickled with heat. “But yours is more comfortable.”

“Yo— _oou_ —rs smells like _yuh-oo_!”

Ben breathed out in something that sounded like a pleased intonation. “ _Stars_ , ‘Tige, I’d come so fast—I can’t even pretend like I’d be a good lay, not the first time. But I’d make up for it every time after that.”

“You’d better,” Armitage mumbled, rocking his hips back in time with the strokes of Ben’s fingers.

“But you’d be full up of me.” Armitage made a face, knowing the displeasure would translate against Ben’s skin. “You wouldn’t keep it in.” Ben turned his face awkwardly, craning his neck to whisper against Armitage’s cheek. “It would be dripping out of you, warm and slick—“ The lubricant, thinned considerably by the heat of his body, rolled down against the crease of Armitage’s thigh. He pushed back against Ben’s fingers more diligently. “But I know you don’t do it all the time—coming just from fucking—you just get so hard, you go so red all over, you need to be _touched_. You’d have to touch yourself though—“

“Why? Going to— _mmm_ —going to get your fuck and fall asleep? Nerfherder.”

Ben snorted. “I’d be too busy enjoying eating you out.”

Armitage would find time after Ben had fallen asleep to be mortified at the strangled gurgling that started in the back of his throat and came out as a shout. Ben jolted, startled by the vocalization so close to his ear. Armitage shook from top to tail, cock pulsing between them and making bellies slick. Breathing hard, he peeled himself away on trembling hands and knees, bereft at the burn of Ben’s fingers sliding out of him and his tired muscles fluttering around nothing.

He rolled beside Ben awkwardly, his socks making a sharp _swish_ against the cheap duvet. His hands hovered, unsure, before settling on covering his softening cock. “Fuck.”

Ben laughed, the sound soft at first and then growing full bodied and rich.

“One day… one day I’m going to cash that in.”

Ben snored quietly beside him in the small hours of the morning. Mindless infomercials buzzed and flashed on the television screen as he stared, half listening to the variety of ingredients that could be efficiently diced with the _Slapchop_. There were times, when he was stuck on a chapter of his thesis, that this helped. He’d allow his subconscious to run in the background like a routine virus check then suddenly an alert would pop up on the desktop of his brain, splashed across the screen of his eyes in Technicolor.

“Ben!”

Armitage sat bolt-upright, his heart racing.

“Ben!”

He shook Ben’s shoulder until the sleeping lump beside him blinked to consciousness, suddenly concerned.

“What? What is it? What’s happening?” He started to bolt from the bed, grabbing for the pants discarded at the foot of it among the tangles of economy bedding.

Armitage caught him by the arm. “Nothing! Nothing’s happening, come back here!”

“’Tige, what is it?”

Armitage rose up on his knees, “The address, Ben.”

“I don’t know, why does that matter? Did your dad—“

“No, no, not _this_ address. The one on my birth certificate—my mother’s—it’s _Arkanis_.”

“Yeah, you said it was a misdirect.”

“Ben, it’s not, I was wrong.” Ben’s brows shot up toward his hairline. “Her address was the academy because _she worked there_. The staff lived on campus—servants’ quarters, essentially. The faculty had independent addresses. Ben she was part of the staff.”

“Tige,” he rubbed his face, visibly exhausted once the shock had dissipated. “Are you sure you wanna pull that thread?”

“ _Abso-bloody-fucking-lutely._ ”

“How do I help?”


End file.
